CHAPTER V

By Chan Fang-shēng (fourth centuryA.D.)

Cliffs that rise a thousand feetWithout a break,Lake that stretches a hundred milesWithout a wave,Sands that are white through all the year,Without a stain,Pine-tree woods, winter and summerEver-green,Streams that for ever flow and flowWithout a pause,Trees that for twenty thousand yearsYour vows have kept,You have suddenly healed the pain of a traveller’s heart,And moved his brush to write a new song.

At the time when blossomsFall from the cherry-tree:On a day when yellow birdsHovered in the branches—You said you must stop,Because your horse was tired:I said I must go,Because my silkworms were hungry.All night I could not sleepBecause of the moonlight on my bed.I kept on hearing a voice calling:Out of Nowhere, Nothing answered “yes.”I will carry my coat and not put on my belt;With unpainted eyebrows I will stand at the front window.My tiresome petticoat keeps on flapping about;If it opens a little, I shall blame the spring wind.I heard my love was going to Yang-chouAnd went with him as far as Ch’u-shan.For a moment when you held me fast in your outstretched armsI thought the river stood still and did not flow.I have brought my pillow and am lying at the northern window,So come to me and play with me awhile.With so much quarrelling and so few kissesHow long do you think our love can last?

All night I could not sleepBecause of the moonlight on my bed.I kept on hearing a voice calling:Out of Nowhere, Nothing answered “yes.”

I will carry my coat and not put on my belt;With unpainted eyebrows I will stand at the front window.My tiresome petticoat keeps on flapping about;If it opens a little, I shall blame the spring wind.

I heard my love was going to Yang-chouAnd went with him as far as Ch’u-shan.For a moment when you held me fast in your outstretched armsI thought the river stood still and did not flow.

I have brought my pillow and am lying at the northern window,So come to me and play with me awhile.With so much quarrelling and so few kissesHow long do you think our love can last?

Her door opened on the white waterClose by the side of the timber bridge:That’s where the little lady livedAll alone without a lover.

Anon. (fourth century)

Green rushes with red shoots,Long leaves bending to the wind—You and I in the same boatPlucking rushes at the Five Lakes.We started at dawn from the orchid-island:We rested under the elms till noon.You and I plucking rushesHad not plucked a handful when night came!

“Seeing the plum-tree I thought of the Western IslandAnd I plucked a branch to send to the North Country.I put on my dress of apricot-yellow silkAnd bound up my hair black as the crow’s wing.But which is the road that leads to the Western Island?I’ll ask the man at the ferry by the Bridge of Boats.But the sun is sinking and the orioles flying home:And the wind is blowing and sighing in the walnut-tree.I’ll stand under the tree just beside the gate:I’ll stand by the door and show off my enamelled hair-pins.”She’s opened the gate, but her lover has not come:She’s gone out at the gate to pluck red lotus.As she plucks the lotus on the southern dyke in autumn,The lotus flowers stand higher than a man’s head.She bends down—and plays with the lotus seeds,The lotus seeds are green like the lake-water.She gathers the flowers and puts them into her gown—The lotus-bud that is red all through.She thinks of her lover, her lover that does not come:She looks up and sees the wild geese flying—The Western Island is full of wild geese.To look for her lover she climbs the Blue Tower.The tower is high: she looks, but cannot see:All day she leans on the balcony rails.The rail is twisted into a twelve-fold pattern.She lets fall her hand white like the colour of jade.She rolls up the awning, she sees the wide sky,And the sea-water waving its vacant blue.“The sea shall carry my dreams far away,So that you shall be sorry at last for my sorrow.If the South wind—only knew my thoughtsIt would blow my dreams till they got to the Western Island.”

By Tsang Chih (sixth century)

I was brought up under the Stone Castle:My window opened on to the castle tower.In the castle were beautiful young menWho waved to me as they went in and out.

By Hsieh T’iao (fifth centuryA.D.)

Chiang-nan is a glorious and beautiful land,And Chin-ling an exalted and kingly province!The green canals of the city stretch on and onAnd its high towers stretch up and up.Flying gables lean over the bridle-road:Drooping willows cover the Royal Aqueduct.Shrill flutes sing by the coach’s awning,And reiterated drums bang near its painted wheels.The names of the deserving shall be carved on the Cloud Terrace.[34]And for those who have done valiantly rich reward awaits.

[34]The Record Office.

By Pao Chao (diedA.D.466)

Now lateI follow Time’s Necessity:[35]Mounting a barricade I pacify remote tribes.Discarding my sash I don a coat of rhinoceros-skin:Rolling up my skirts I shoulder a black bow.Even at the very start my strength fails:What will become of me before it’s all over?

[35]I.e., “enlist.”

By Pao Chao

Red hills lie athwart us as a menace in the west,And fiery mountains glare terrible in the south.The body burns, the head aches and throbs:If a bird light here, its soul forthwith departs.Warm springsPour from cloudy poolsAnd hot smoke issues between the rocks.The sun and moon are perpetually obscured:The rain and dew never stay dry.There are red serpents a hundred feet long,And black snakes ten girths round.The sand-spitters shoot their poison at the sunbeams:The flying insects are ill with the shifting glare.The hungry monkeys dare not come down to eat:The morning birds dare not set out to fly.At the Ching river many die of poison:Crossing the Lu one is lucky if one is only ill.Our living feet walk on dead ground:Our high wills surmount the snares of Fate.The Spear-boat General[36]got but little honour:The Wave-subduer[37]met with scant reward.If our Prince still grudges the things that are easy to give,[38]Can he hope that his soldiers will give what is hardest to give?[39]

[36]Hou Yen (first centuryB.C.).

[37]Ma Yüan (first centuryA.D.).

[38]Rewards and titles.

[39]Life.

“I heard at night your long sighsAnd knew that you were thinking of me.”As she spoke, the doors of Heaven openedAnd our souls conversed and I saw her face.She set me a pillow to rest onAnd she brought me meat and drink.I stood beside her where she lay,But suddenly woke and she was not there:And none knew how my soul was torn,How the tears fell surging over my breast.

I stood beside her where she lay,But suddenly woke and she was not there:And none knew how my soul was torn,How the tears fell surging over my breast.

By Wu-ti, emperor of the Liang dynasty (A.D.464-549)

In the high trees—many doleful winds:The ocean waters—lashed into waves.If the sharp sword be not in your hand,How can you hope your friends will remain many?Do you not see that sparrow on the fence?Seeing the hawk it casts itself into the snare.The fowler to catch the sparrow is delighted:The Young Man to see the sparrow is grieved.He takes his sword and cuts through the netting:The yellow sparrow flies away, away.Away, away, up to the blue skyAnd down again to thank the Young Man.

By the Emperor Ch’ien Wēn-ti (sixth century)

A beautiful place is the town of Lo-yang:The big streets are full of spring light.The lads go driving out with harps in their hands:The mulberry girls go out to the fields with their baskets.Golden whips glint at the horses’ flanks.Gauze sleeves brush the green boughs.Racing dawn, the carriages come home,—And the girls with their high baskets full of fruit.

My bed is so empty that I keep on waking up:As the cold increases, the night-wind begins to blow.It rustles the curtains, making a noise like the sea:Oh that those were waves which could carry me back to you!

By Yüan-ti (508-554). See page15.

Entering the Hall, she meets the new wife:Leaving the gate, she runs into her former husband.Words stick: she does not manage to say anything:She presses her hands together and hesitates.Agitates moon-like fan—sheds pearl-like tears—Realizes she loves him just as much as ever:That her present pain will never come to an end.

By Wu-ti

Who saysThat it’s by my desire,This separation, this living so far from you?My dress still smells of the lavender you gave:My hand still holds the letter that you sent.Round my waist I wear a double sash:I dream that it binds us both with a same-heart knot.Did not you know that people hide their love,Like a flower that seems too precious to be picked?

By the Emperor Ch’ien Wēn-ti, of the Liang dynasty, who reigned during the yearA.D.500.

Of marsh-mallows my boat is made,The ropes are lily-roots.The pole-star is athwart the sky:The moon sinks low.It’s at the ferry I’m plucking lilies.But it might be the Yellow River—So afraid you seem of the wind and waves,So long you tarry at the crossing.[40]

[40]A lady is waiting for her lover at the ferry which crosses a small stream. When he does not come, she bitterly suggests that he is as afraid of the little stream as though it were the Yellow River, the largest river in China.

By Hsü Ling (A.D.507-583)

The road that I came by mounts eight thousand feet:The river that I crossed hangs a hundred fathoms.The brambles so thick that in summer one cannot pass!The snow so high that in winter one cannot climb!With branches that interlace Lung Valley is dark:Against cliffs that tower one’s voice beats and echoes.I turn my head, and it seems only a dreamThat I ever lived in the streets of Hsien-yang.

By Yang-ti (605-617), emperor of the Sui dynasty

The evening river is level and motionless—The spring colours just open to their full.Suddenly a wave carries the moon[41]awayAnd the tidal water comes with its freight of stars.[41]

[41]I.e., the reflection in the water.

Altun (486-566 A.D.) was a Tartar employed by the Chinese in drilling their troops “after the manner of the Huns.” He could not read or write. The “Yo Fu Kuang T’i” says: Kao Huan attacked Pi, king of Chou, but lost nearly half his men. Kao Huan fell ill of sadness and Pi, to taunt him, sent out a proclamation, which said:Kao Huan, that son of a mouseDared to attack King Pi.But at the first stroke of sword and bow,The aggressor’s plot recoiled on himself.When this reached Kao Huan’s ears, he sat up in bed and tried to comfort his officers. All the nobles were summoned to his room, and Altun was asked to sing them a song about Tchirek, his native land. He sang:

Kao Huan, that son of a mouseDared to attack King Pi.But at the first stroke of sword and bow,The aggressor’s plot recoiled on himself.

When this reached Kao Huan’s ears, he sat up in bed and tried to comfort his officers. All the nobles were summoned to his room, and Altun was asked to sing them a song about Tchirek, his native land. He sang:

Tchirek RiverLies under the Dark Mountains:Where the sky is like the sides of a tentStretched down over the Great Steppe.The sky is gray, gray:And the steppe wide, wide:Over grass that the wind has battered lowSheep and oxen roam.

“Altun” means “gold” in Tartar. No one could teach him to write the Chinese character forgold, till at last some one said: “Draw the roof of your house and then put a few strokes underneath.” He thus learnt, in a rough fashion, to write his own name.

By Ch’ēn Tzŭ-ang (A.D.656-698)

Business men boast of their skill and cunningBut in philosophy they are like little children.Bragging to each other of successful depredationsThey neglect to consider the ultimate fate of the body.What should they know of the Master of Dark TruthWho saw the wide world in a jade cup,By illumined conception got clear of Heaven and Earth:On the chariot of Mutation entered the Gate of Immutability?

By Wang Chi (circaA.D.700)

“Tell me now, what should a man wantBut to sit alone, sipping his cup of wine?”I should like to have visitors come and discuss philosophyAnd not to have the tax-collector coming to collect taxes:My three sons married into good familiesAnd my five daughters wedded to steady husbands.Then I could jog through a happy five-score yearsAnd, at the end, need no Paradise.

By Wang Chi

These days, continually fuddled with drink,I fail to satisfy the appetites of the soul.But seeing men all behaving like drunkards,[42]How can I alone remain sober?

[42]Written during the war which preceded the T’ang dynasty.

By Yüan Chieh (flourishedcircaA.D.740-770).Yüan Chieh, a contemporary of Li Po, has not hitherto been mentioned in any European book. “His subjects were always original, but his poems are seldom worth quoting,” is a Chinese opinion of him.

By Yüan Chieh (flourishedcircaA.D.740-770).

Yüan Chieh, a contemporary of Li Po, has not hitherto been mentioned in any European book. “His subjects were always original, but his poems are seldom worth quoting,” is a Chinese opinion of him.

I loved you dearly, Stone Fish Lake,With your rock-island shaped like a swimming fish!On the fish’s back is the Wine-cup HollowAnd round the fish,—the flowing waters of the Lake.The boys on the shore sent little wooden ships,Each made to carry a single cup of wine.The island-drinkers emptied the liquor-boatsAnd set their sails and sent them back for more.On the shores of the Lake were jutting slabs of rockAnd under the rocks there flowed an icy stream.Heated with wine, to rinse our mouths and handsIn those cold waters was a joy beyond compare!Of gold and jewels I have not any need;For Caps and Coaches I do not care at all.But I wish I could sit on the rocky banks of the LakeFor ever and ever staring at the Stone Fish.

Of gold and jewels I have not any need;For Caps and Coaches I do not care at all.But I wish I could sit on the rocky banks of the LakeFor ever and ever staring at the Stone Fish.

By Yüan Chieh

To the south-east—three thousand leagues—The Yüan and Hsiang form into a mighty lake.Above the lake are deep mountain valleys,And men dwelling whose hearts are without guile.Gay like children, they swarm to the tops of the trees;And run to the water to catch bream and trout.Their pleasures are the same as those of beasts and birds;They put no restraint either on body or mind.Far I have wandered throughout the Nine Lands;Wherever I went such manners had disappeared.I find myself standing and wondering, perplexed,Whether Saints and Sages have really done us good.

By Ts’ao Sung (flourishedcircaA.D.870-920)

The hills and rivers of the lowland countryYou have made your battle-ground.How do you suppose the people who live thereWill procure “firewood and hay”?[43]Do not let me hear you talking togetherAbout titles and promotions;For a single general’s reputationIs made out of ten thousand corpses.

[43]The necessaries of life.

By Su Tung-p’o (A.D.1036-1101)

Families, when a child is bornWant it to be intelligent.I, through intelligence,Having wrecked my whole life,Only hope the baby will proveIgnorant and stupid.Then he will crown a tranquil lifeBy becoming a Cabinet Minister.

By Lu Yu (A.D.1125-1209)

An old man selling charms in a cranny of the town wall.He writes out spells to bless the silkworms and spells to protect the corn.With the money he gets each day he only buys wine.But he does not worry when his legs get wobbly,For he has a boy to lean on.

By Lu Yu

Away and away I sail in my light boat;My heart leaps with a great gust of joy.Through the leafless branches I see the temple in the wood;Over the dwindling stream the stone bridge towers.Down the grassy lanes sheep and oxen pass;In the misty village cranes and magpies cry.Back in my home I drink a cup of wineAnd need not fear the greed[44]of the evening wind.

Back in my home I drink a cup of wineAnd need not fear the greed[44]of the evening wind.

[44]Which “eats” men.

By Lu Yu

In the southern village the boy who minds the oxWith his naked feet stands on the ox’s back.Through the hole in his coat the river wind blows;Through his broken hat the mountain rain pours.On the long dyke he seemed to be far away;In the narrow lane suddenly we were face to face.The boy is home and the ox is back in its stall;And a dark smoke oozes through the thatched roof.

The boy is home and the ox is back in its stall;And a dark smoke oozes through the thatched roof.

By Lu Yu

Of Spring water,—thirty or forty miles:In the evening sunlight,—three or four houses.Youths and boys minding geese and ducks:Women and girls tending mulberries and hemp.The place,—remote: their coats and scarves old:The year,—fruitful: their talk and laughter gay.The old wanderer moors his flat boatAnd staggers up the bank to pluck wistaria flowers.

Ch’ēn Tzŭ-lung was born in 1607. He became a soldier, and in 1637 defeated the rebel, Hsü Tu. After the suicide of the last Ming emperor, he offered his services to the Ming princes who were still opposing the Manchus. In 1647 he headed a conspiracy to place the Ming prince Lu on the throne. His plans were discovered and he was arrested by Manchu troops. Escaping their vigilance for a moment, he leapt into a river and was drowned.The following song describes the flight of a husband and wife from a town menaced by the advancing Manchus. They find the whole country-side deserted.

The following song describes the flight of a husband and wife from a town menaced by the advancing Manchus. They find the whole country-side deserted.

The little cart jolting and banging through the yellow haze of dusk.The man pushing behind: the woman pulling in front.They have left the city and do not know where to go.“Green, green, those elm-tree leaves:theywill cure my hunger,If only we could find some quiet place and sup on them together.”The wind has flattened the yellow mother-wort:Above it in the distance they see the walls of a house.“Theresurely must be people living who’ll give you something to eat.”They tap at the door, but no one comes: they look in, but the kitchen is empty.They stand hesitating in the lonely road and their tears fall like rain.

The wind has flattened the yellow mother-wort:Above it in the distance they see the walls of a house.“Theresurely must be people living who’ll give you something to eat.”They tap at the door, but no one comes: they look in, but the kitchen is empty.They stand hesitating in the lonely road and their tears fall like rain.

Po Chü-i was born at T’ai-yüan in Shansi. Most of his childhood was spent at Jung-yang in Honan. His father was a second-class Assistant Department Magistrate. He tells us that his family was poor and often in difficulties.

He seems to have settled permanently at Ch’ang-an in 801. This town, lying near the north-west frontier, was the political capital of the Empire. In its situation it somewhat resembled Madrid. Lo-yang, the Eastern city, owing to its milder climate and more accessible position, became, like Seville in Spain, a kind ofsocialcapital.

Soon afterwards he met Yüan Chēn, then aged twenty-two, who was destined to play so important a part in his life. Five years later, during a temporary absence from the city, he addressed to Yüan the following poem:

Since I left my home to seek official stateSeven years I have lived in Ch’ang-an.What have I gained? Only you, Yüan;So hard it is to bind friendships fast.We have roamed on horseback under the flowering trees;We have walked in the snow and warmed our hearts with wine.We have met and parted at the Western GateAnd neither of us bothered to put on Cap or Belt.We did not go up together for Examination;We were not serving in the same Department of State.The bond that joined us lay deeper than outward things;The rivers of our souls spring from the same well!

Of Yüan’s appearance at this time we may guess something from a picture which still survives in copy; it shows him, a youthful and elegant figure, visiting his cousin Ts’ui Ying-ying, who was a lady-in-waiting at Court.[45]At this period of his life Po made friends with difficulty, not being, as he tells us, “a master of such accomplishments as caligraphy, painting, chess or gambling, which tend to bring men together in pleasurable intercourse.” Two older men, T’ang Ch’ü and Tēng Fang, liked his poetry and showed him much kindness; another, the politician K’ung T’an, won his admiration on public grounds. But all three died soon after he got to know them. Later he made three friends with whom he maintained a lifelong intimacy: the poet Liu Yū-hsi (called Mēng-tē), and the two officials Li Chien and Ts’ui Hsuan-liang. In 805 Yüan Chēn was banished for provocative behaviour towards a high official. The T’ang History relates the episode as follows: “Yüan was staying the night at the Fu-shui Inn; just as he was preparing to go to sleep in the Main Hall, the court-official Li Shih-yüan also arrived. Yüan Chēn should have offered to withdraw from the Hall. He did not do so and a scuffle ensued. Yüan, locked out of the building, took off his shoes and stole round to the back, hoping to find another way in. Liu followed with a whip and struck him across the face.”

The separation was a heavy blow to Po Chü-i. In a poem called “Climbing Alone to the Lo-yu Gardens” he says:

I look down on the Twelve City Streets:—Red dust flanked by green trees!Coaches and horsemen alone fill my eyes;I do not see whom my heart longs to see.K’ung T’an has died at Lo-yang;Yüan Chēn is banished to Ching-mēn.Of all that walk on the North-South RoadThere is not one that I care for more than the rest!

In 804 on the death of his father, and again in 811 on the death of his mother, he spent periods of retirement on the Wei river near Ch’ang-an. It was during the second of these periods that he wrote the long poem (260 lines) called “Visiting the Wu-chēn Temple.” Soon after his return to Ch’ang-an, which took place in the winter of 814, he fell into official disfavour. In two long memorials entitled “On Stopping the War,” he had criticized the handling of a campaign against an unimportant tribe of Tartars, which he considered had been unduly prolonged. In a series of poems he had satirized the rapacity of minor officials and called attention to the intolerable sufferings of the masses.

His enemies soon found an opportunity of silencing him. In 814 the Prime Minister, Wu Yüan-hēng, was assassinated in broad daylight by an agent of the revolutionary leader Wu Yüan-chi. Po, in a memorial to the Throne, pointed out the urgency of remedying the prevailing discontent. He held at this time the post of assistant secretary to the Princes’ tutor. He should not have criticized the Prime Minister (for being murdered!) until the official Censors had spoken, for he held a Palace appointment which did not carry with it the right of censorship.

His opponents also raked up another charge. His mother had met her death by falling into a well while looking at flowers. Chü-i had written two poems entitled“In Praise of Flowers” and “The New Well.” It was claimed that by choosing such subjects he had infringed the laws of Filial Piety.

He was banished to Kiukiang (then called Hsün-yang) with the rank of Sub-Prefect. After three years he was given the Governorship of Chung-chou, a remote place in Ssech’uan. On the way up the Yangtze he met Yüan Chēn after three years of separation. They spent a few days together at I-ch’ang, exploring the rock-caves of the neighbourhood.

Chung-chou is noted for its “many flowers and exotic trees,” which were a constant delight to its new Governor. In the winter of 819 he was recalled to the capital and became a second-class Assistant Secretary. About this time Yüan Chēn also returned to the city.

In 821 the Emperor Mou Tsung came to the throne. His arbitrary mis-government soon caused a fresh rising in the north-west. Chü-i remonstrated in a series of memorials and was again removed from the capital—this time to be Governor of the important town of Hangchow. Yüan now held a judicial post at Ningpo and the two were occasionally able to meet.

In 824 his Governorship expired and he lived (with the nominal rank of Imperial Tutor) at the village of Li-tao-li, near Lo-yang. It was here that he took into his household two girls, Fan-su and Man-tzŭ, whose singing and dancing enlivened his retreat. He also brought with him from Hangchow a famous “Indian rock,” and two cranes of the celebrated “Hua-t’ing” breed. Other amenities of his life at this time were a recipe for making sweet wine, the gift of Ch’ēn Hao-hsien; a harp-melody taught him by Ts’ui Hsuan-liang; and a song called “AutumnThoughts,” brought by the concubine of a visitor from Ssech’uan.

In 825 he became Governor of Soochow. Here at the age of fifty-three he enjoyed a kind of second youth, much more sociable than that of thirty years before; we find him endlessly picnicking and feasting. But after two years illness obliged him to retire.

He next held various posts at the capital, but again fell ill, and in 829 settled at Lo-yang as Governor of the Province of Honan. Here his first son, A-ts’ui, was born, but died in the following year.

In 831 Yüan Chēn also died.

Henceforth, though for thirteen years he continued to hold nominal posts, he lived a life of retirement. In 832 he repaired an unoccupied part of the Hsiang-shan monastery at Lung-mēn,[46]a few miles south of Lo-yang, and lived there, calling himself the Hermit of Hsiang-shan. Once he invited to dinner eight other elderly and retired officials; the occasion was recorded in a picture entitled “The Nine Old Men at Hsiang-shan.” There is no evidence that his association with them was otherwise than transient, though legend (see “Mémoires Concernant les Chinois” and Giles, Biographical Dictionary) has invested the incident with an undue importance. He amused himself at this time by writing a description of his daily life which would be more interesting if it were not so closely modelled on a famous memoir by T’ao Ch’ien. In the winter of 839 he was attacked by paralysis and lost the use of his left leg. After many months in bed he was again able to visit his garden, carried by Ju-man, a favourite monk.

In 842 Liu Yü-hsi, the last survivor of the four friends, and a constant visitor at the monastery, “went to wander with Yüan Chēn in Hades.” The monk Ju-man also died.

The remaining years of Po’s life were spent in collecting and arranging his Complete Works. Copies were presented to the principal monasteries (the “Public Libraries” of the period) in the towns with which he had been connected. He died in 846, leaving instructions that his funeral should be without pomp and that he should be buried not in the family tomb at Hsia-kuei, but by Ju-man’s side in the Hsiang-shan Monastery. He desired that a posthumous title should not be awarded.

The most striking characteristic of Po Chü-i’s poetry is its verbal simplicity. There is a story that he was in the habit of reading his poems to an old peasant woman and altering any expression which she could not understand. The poems of his contemporaries were mere elegant diversions which enabled the scholar to display his erudition, or the literary juggler his dexterity. Po expounded his theory of poetry in a letter to Yüan Chēn. Like Confucius, he regarded art solely as a method of conveying instruction. He is not the only great artist who has advanced this untenable theory. He accordingly valued his didactic poems far above his other work; but it is obvious that much of his best poetry conveys no moral whatever. He admits, indeed, that among his “miscellaneous stanzas” many were inspired by some momentary sensation or passing event. “A single laugh or a single sigh were rapidly translated into verse.”

The didactic poems or “satires” belong to the period before his first banishment. “When the tyrants and favourites heard my Songs of Ch’in, they looked at one anotherand changed countenance,” he boasts. Satire, in the European sense, implieswit; but Po’s satires are as lacking in true wit as they are unquestionably full of true poetry. We must regard them simply as moral tales in verse.

In the conventional lyric poetry of his predecessors he finds little to admire. Among the earlier poems of the T’ang dynasty he selects for praise the series by Ch’ēn Tzŭ-ang, which includes “Business Men.” In Li Po and Tu Fu he finds a deficiency of “fēng” and “ya.” The two terms are borrowed from the Preface to the Odes. “Fēng” means “criticism of one’s rulers”; “ya,” “moral guidance to the masses.”

“The skill,” he says in the same letter, “which Tu Fu shows in threading on to hislü-shiha ramification of allusions ancient and modern could not be surpassed; in this he is even superior to Li Po. But, if we take the ‘Press-gang’ and verses like that stanza:

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